


Moving In

by themegalosaurus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic, M/M, Massage, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2019-09-12 23:15:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16881108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themegalosaurus/pseuds/themegalosaurus
Summary: Settling into the Bunker.





	Moving In

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my Tumblr.

Sam’s deep in the archives, knees sore on the concrete and his fingers leached dry from rifling through folders and files. He’s not sure how long he’s been here, but he doesn’t want to stop. This place is a treasure trove, a breakthrough; a hunters’ library of Alexandria. There’s so much here and he’s almost dizzy with ideas about how they can start to put it to use.

Behind him, a door creaks open and there’s a sudden influx of fresh air into the room.

“Hey,” Sam says, not looking up. “Dude, you gotta check this out, they’ve got this rating system for demonic events which operates on three different scales.”

“No,  _dude_ ,” Dean says, “You need to take a break.” He moves to Sam’s side and sets a beer and a sandwich on the shelf beside him. Then he reaches forward and runs his fingers through Sam’s hair. A pale cloud of dust shakes free.

Dean tuts. “I’ve been into town, bought groceries, driven twenty miles down the road, picked up a ton of home furnishings, come back, made you what’s probably - no, definitely - the best sandwich you’ve seen this year, and all this time you’ve just been sorting through boxes? Seriously, Sam. I know you’re keen on the ‘Man of Letters’ thing but I’d also like you to be ‘man who occasionally sees the light of day.’”

Sam shrugs. “This stuff, Dean. It’s… I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Okay, geekboy,” Dean says. “I’m gonna go set up my room.”

“Sure,” Sam says absently but he’s already half-away, eyes caught by a promising Latin label on a box two shelves over. Does that say 'angelic healing’?

“Sandwich, Sam!” Dean says, and puts it into his hand.

Sam’s eaten the sandwich and made his way through another six or so archive boxes by the time Dean comes back. His back is throbbing, stiff, but he’s pretty used to pain by now and the discomfort doesn’t nearly outweigh his interest in what he’s reading. He hardly notices it at all until the click of the door snaps him out of his thoughts.

Behind him, Dean coughs.

“Mmm?” Sam says.

“You planning on surfacing any time soon?”

“Umm…” Sam’s noncommittal, distracted. But then Dean kneels down and settles his hand at the back of Sam’s neck. It’s warm and heavy, and he flexes his fingers, kneading into Sam’s aching muscles.

“Unnhhh.” Sam can’t help the breathy, grateful sound that escapes him.

Dean drops a second hand onto his shoulder and shifts his grip until both thumbs are digging hard into the sides of Sam’s shoulderblades.

“Oh my God,” Sam says. Dean’s good at this, so good that Sam can feel his muscles starting to soften all over. He slumps back into a sitting position, the top of his ass just nudging Dean’s knees. “Oh, wow, Dean,” he says. “Don’t stop.”

“Hmm,” Dean says, but there’s a warm undertone of happiness in his voice which just adds to the treacly good feeling that’s starting to envelop Sam’s body. Dean keeps going, gripping his fingers and circling his thumbs, sure and certain and syrup on Sam’s seized-up trapezeii. Five minutes later (maybe, it might be; Sam certainly isn’t counting), by the time he slows to a halt, Sam’s basically liquid, a warm cosy puddle of Winchester oozing slowly onto the floor.

“Fuck,” he says, but then the whole thing ratchets up a notch as Dean tips forward and starts kissing the side of his neck. It’s kind of a crucial area for Sam and he’s already so sensitised from the massage that every brush of Dean’s lips sends shocks of pleasure skittering over his skin. He breathes out, unsteady and loud, and reaches backwards with his left hand, grasping blindly until he feels denim and clutching his fingers around Dean’s thigh.

“Yeah? You like that, Sammy?” Dean says, and then gets back to it, slipping his right hand under the layers of Sam’s shirts, running his fingertips over the cut of Sam’s hip. Taking his mouth off Sam’s neck, he shuffles forward until his chest is against Sam’s shoulders, his hard-on warm against Sam’s lower back. His left hand slides firm up over Sam’s chest, hitching them together, and Sam feels him shift, a slow up-and-down rhythm just starting. He presses back into Dean’s touch.

Dean keeps going for a little while, just enough to leave him breathless; then he drops his head to the side of Sam’s own. “Hey,” he breathes, hot and damp into Sam’s ear. “I just bought a new mattress. You wanna help break it in?”


End file.
